I'm CHARNAME
by Late to the Party
Summary: Gorion has a headache. One day, he was preparing to leave Candlekeep, having set his affairs in order... and then the Multiverse exploded.  A one shot & sequel chapter
1. Gorion's Headache

I'm CHARNAME

"I'm CHARNAME!"

"No, I'm CHARNAME!"

"All right, everyone please calm down–" Gorion began.

"I'll see you in the hells!"

"I'll _put_ you there!"

"Imoen's _my_ sister!"

"She's _mine_!"

"Boys… and girls…" Gorion tried again.

"I am heir to the Throne of Murder!"

"Alaundo's prophecies spoke of me!"

This was going to be a long day.

It had all started when the multiverse collided. Everything fused together. While most people just merged into themselves, for some reason, there was an oddity with his ward. Hundreds, if not thousands appeared, each declaring he, or she, was 'Charname'. None of it made sense. The old sage scratched his head. Could Bhaal _really_ have been so prolific?

Half dragons, rainbow coloured dwarves, sane gnomes, pretty elves, sassy half elves, plucky drow, evil Halflings, good Halflings, humans of all varieties… many, many katanas, many more sorcerers, aasimar of all ages… familiars…

This was giving him a headache.

And all of them were after someone called 'Sarevok'? Except for a few who wanted to live peaceful lives and get away from their cruel destiny, but how did they even know about their linage? Or Imoen? And who were the legion of kaleidoscopic, shimmering girls for which the universe's laws bent around.

And what in the gods' madness was 'Spellplague'? Creator Races? Time Travel? Neverwinter…

He was getting too old for this.


	2. The Solar's Headache

A/N – as requested, a sequel. This one's for you, Seyfert.

* * *

><p>The Solar's Multiverse<p>

The Solar sighed. This wasn't going as she had expected; he wasn't following The Plan. Was it her? Had she not explained the prophecy properly? Or had it been her approach? She wasn't sure, and she wasn't a being used to uncertainty, at least, not uncertainty within herself. It didn't make sense. One moment, she was dealing with one version of reality, and the next… As a Solar, she obviously knew about the Multiverse, mirrors into other realities and suchlike.

"Silence, godchilds – godchildren –" she began, then adopted a different tact, "if you would all just stand still and _listen_…"

The squabbling continued. It was a riot. A riot of colour, of noise, of garments, faces, headdresses, hair and eyes. Myriad emotions. The scared and sheltered, battle hardened veterans, the psychotic killers, the good, the bad, and the ugly, if she was honest. Except there were more outwardly beautiful lookers than ugly ones. One dwarf had quite a wart on his nose, and several seemed to wear 'fashionable' scars, so placed that they dealt superficial damage but enhanced appearance.

"That is _enough_! You will be still, Children, and heed my words!"

"What's going on?" One demanded, eyes defiant and glowing golden, in mimicry of the elder brother.

"This is a pocket plane, created when you – _will you be quiet?_" She glared at the offending rows, "When you defeated Irenicus in the hells–"

"I haven't defeated Irenicus yet. Last I looked, we were battling in Spellhold." A cheerful halfling's voice chipped in.

"Who's Irenicus?" A timid paladin inquired.

"I will separate you," The Solar threatened, her calm finally lost. After centuries of serenity, dignified composure and servitude, patient waiting and warring, the collective voice of thousands of 'chosen ones' overwhelmed her. She had never experienced a headache before now; suddenly she understood what a migraine was. It shouldn't have been possible. Then a thought came to her. Manipulating the pocket plane, she divided them by alignment, race, gender, and blood type. They would face the pocket plane trials and whoever was left she would deal with.

"E-excuse me, Solar?" A young woman, barely older than a girl, spoke softly, "Where's Imoen?"

There was silence. An echo as no one breathed. Then it erupted into a deafening roar. Had someone demanded Tamoko, the Solar queried, and another – no, that couldn't be right; that was the wrong time entirely. A handsome hagspawn? One godchild had lost sight of which reality they were in.

"The gods have decreed," she announced.

"_We will, we will not be moved…"_

"For the glory of Helm!"

"Damn Helm! Talos–"

"Tiax will rule all!"

"Heh!"

She hated children. Godchildren were the worst. She was handing in her one century's notice; Ao could deal with this himself. Besides, she had a date with Zoab. The Bhaalspawn could just stay in the hells where they belonged.


End file.
